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H. O. stuck fast here, and the writing was really very bad, like a spider that has been in the inkpot crawling in a hurry over the paper without stopping to rub its feet properly on the mat. So Oswald took the letter. He is above minding a little marmalade or bacon. He began to read. It ran thus:

"It's not Antiquities, you little silly," he said; "it's Antiquaries."

"The other's a very good word," said Albert's uncle, "and I never call names at breakfast myself—it upsets the digestion, my egregious Oswald."

"That's a name though," said Alice, "and you got it out of 'Stalky,' too. Go on, Oswald."

So Oswald went on where he had been interrupted: